Soap gets in your eyes

Once upon a time, folk watched soap operas for a bit of light relief, viewing them as a pleasurable diversion from bothersome matters like real life. No more, in other words, than a harmless, thrice-weekly, half-hour dollop of entertainment. Not, of course, that they'd ever admit to watching them - to do so would be to risk incurring haughty guffaws from people who probably watched them too, but were damned if they'd come out of the soap closet without a fight.

Back then those "Soap Sensation Shocker" tabloid headlines referred to events like a batch of Betty's hotpots getting burnt in the Rovers' oven, or the pub in Emmerdale Farm running out of cider. True, Coronation Street had its gritty moments and was generally lauded for its handling of them but, on the whole, soaps tried to avoid delving too deep or often into, well, bothersome matters like real life.

But then EastEnders arrived on the scene, and with it came an "anything you can do we can do sensationally better" ratings war. For a while, Coronation Street tut-tutted at the rowdy events in Albert Square, but then the script-writers saw EastEnders's ratings and decided there was "nought" wrong with carnage and sex after all - and no law against introducing them to Weatherfield.

For the "Corrie" faithful it's been a bit like their Grannies declaring a passion for Limp Bizkit - they'd probably be outwardly impressed by the modernity of it all, but inwardly yearning for things to be as they were and to return to a more comforting normality.

Where most folk live there's probably a one-in-a-million chance of meeting a violent end; in Coronation Street, in recent years, the odds have been reduced to about one in three for the residents (too many gruesome fatalities to mention). So death, evidently, sells. The more tragic, the bigger the ratings, too.

Some things remained sacred, though. When the "Street's" best-loved characters announced they wanted to retire or move on to (thespian) pastures, they were generally given a gentle send-off - Mavis was pensioned off to a cottage in the country, for example, and Alf snored his last snore, peacefully, in his armchair.

In this vein, Amanda Barrie, the actress who played the thoroughly decent Alma, decided she'd had enough of treading those cobblestones and seemed all set to retire gracefully to the country with the security man from Freshcos. The script-writers had other ideas, however, opting for her tear-jerking, gut-wrenching, speedy death from cervical cancer. Now it seemed that nothing at all in soap opera land was, in fact, sacred.

Somewhat to the soap-maker's embarrassment, Barrie very publicly objected to the issue being used for entertainment, describing the storyline as "crass" and a "cheap ratings ploy", while the medical profession was largely unimpressed with the handling of the subject, some accusing it of being "medically inaccurate".

All of which was probably fair criticism, but then the Coronation Street powers-that-be are entitled to respond by pointing out that, until recent times, they were regularly accused of failing to reflect real life. Now that they're attempting to do so (women do, after all, die of cervical cancer) they're being criticised for not providing the viewers with their weekly dose of escapism.

Crass? No. Whatever about the medical accuracy of the story, the scriptwriters handled it skilfully for the most part, with actress Sue Nichols (who plays Alma's best pal Audrey) producing performances of subtlety and warmth that will be difficult to match anywhere on television this year. Not that she'll get the credit - she's a soap actress after all.

Fine, too, were the scenes where Mike "Del Boy" Baldwin, desperately offering to flash his cash and find a cure for his ex-wife ("we'll go to America, they know how to treat these things there"), realised, for the first time in his life, that money can't dig you out of every hole.

True, there were mawkish, syrupy scenes, too, designed purely to have the viewers reaching for the Kleenex (not least the playing, after Wednesday's funeral, of a video Alma recorded before her death - which was more Dallas than Corrie), but the story was, mostly, handled with care. Best of all was the mere fact that two actresses of "advanced" years were, for once, given a meaty script, when in most soaps their time is consumed by running around in aprons after their wayward sons and husbands.

Anything you can do we can do better? Well, EastEnders also had a dramatic death last week (young Ashley was killed after driving Mark Fowler's motorbike into the laundry), but even if it's your preferred soap tipple, it can't have registered quite to the same degree on the grief scale.

Why? Well, principally because, if you're a regular EastEnders watcher, you become immune to misery because such is the programme's specialised subject.

In fact, on the rare occasion when a light, semi-humorous scene is thrown into the mix, the actors appear incapable of responding, so accustomed are they to scowling, grunting, crying and brawling.

The tragic death, then, of a teenager is par for the course in EastEnders, the loss made all the more tolerable by the fact that his father Nick (who was responsible for Ashley's death because he tampered with the brakes in the hope that Mark would be killed ... you had to be there) is nothing more than a pantomime character, as subtly drawn as the big bad wolf.

Yes, the show does have flaws, but it is really Corrie which remains king of the soaps.

If either soap is thinking of introducing a wacky new family to its cast, it could do worse than consider the real-life Ackerly family, the easy targets of Channel 4's utterly pointless but mightily entertaining Can You Live Without... Designer Labels? The Ackerlys spend 90 per cent of their income on designer goods - clothes, shoes, electrical equipment, make-up, food, cars - and confess to being incapable of imagining life without their luxury accessories. So, Channel 4 set them a challenge of living a more frugal, designer-label-free life for three weeks, clearing their house of any item with a flash brand name and filling it with more regular stuff.

The highlight of the half-hour was the evident mortification felt by the family - dad Mark, mum Mavis and children Jonathan (10) and Michelle (16) - when they were decked out in shell suits by the programme and sent shopping in the Arndale Centre in Manchester. Mavis needed to buy Jonathan new runners.

She spotted a pair for £60, turned to the shop assistant and asked: "They're not faulty, are they?" Jonathan, who's usually decorated in Armani gear by his mother, professed to feeling "cheap" without his labels, while dad Mark admitted, "I just feel totally insignificant and worthless". He was particularly shattered to have his Mercedes replaced for three weeks by a Vectra, which his daughter Michelle complained "smelt cheap".

Mavis ended up coping reasonably well with the ordeal, but was disappointed in her husband's failure to do the same. "It was a test of character, and Mark hasn't got any," she said, "but I knew that already." By now the viewer was firmly on Mark's side ("I don't have a personality and I don't have any confidence, what I have are labels"). And when Mavis declared "he is nothing without his labels" and "he's not got the physique to carry cheap clothes", it was easier to understand why he needed to wrap a Rolex around his wrist before unearthing some self-esteem.

Leaving the Ackerlys in Wilmslow, Cheshire and joining the environmentalist protesters last week in the Glen of the Downs, in RT╔'s Townlands, was a surreal television journey - one that made you wonder how it's possible that both "families" hail from the same planet.

Granted, not everyone approved of the protesters' methods or their three-year campaign to block Wicklow County Council's plans to convert the N11 into a dual carriageway, but Mike Casey's sympathetic film could only leave you in awe of their passionate devotion to the cause.

For anyone who suffers from claustrophobia, the sight of Keith embedded in an underground tunnel and his efforts to squeeze his way through it (a procedure he described as his "rebirth") must have created as much discomfort as he clearly, but seemingly cheerfully, felt.

From the Glen of the Downs to "hottest trends for this summer" and another dizzy trip - but the destination this time was RT╔'s Off the Rails. Did you know the military look is in this year? Yes, but between ourselves, if the EU's Rapid Reaction Force kitted themselves out in the military gear on show in Off the Rails they'd never have to cock a rifle in anger - because the enemy would die laughing.

We did, though, pick up some useful travel tips from Claire McKeon, who wants us to feel great when we get off the plane at our holiday destination.

She warned that the air inside planes attacks our bodies and skin, so we need to take some preventive action. So, once you're on board, you whip out a box of wipes to take all your make-up off, then put on some moisturiser, then spray some misty stuff on your face to cool yourself down (while trying to avoid spraying it on the elderly man sitting beside you). Then you soak cotton pads in Optrex to treat your dry and irritated eyes, then slap the pads on your eyes for five minutes, pierce your vitamin E capsules and pat whatever comes out of them under your eyes, take your shoes off and put on socks, drink your litre bottle of water and then use your inhaler to clear your nasal passages. Then? Well, because the whole procedure took so long, you pack again because it's time to go home. Don't forget to buy a bottle of fake tan at the airport.

Shane Hegarty is on holiday.

tvreview@irish-times.ie